If Only
by CrimsonBirdhouse
Summary: NonAU, InuKag implied The tiny sapling shivered in the wind, it's leaves and those of the others around it whispering in a sorrowful language that only she could understand. When all is said and done, what is left for those left behind?


AN: Random one shot; my desperate attempt to write something "deep". (I find that in and of itself to be incredibly shallow.) Well, actually, not deep, just thoughtful. Introspective.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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If Only…

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She sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow as she surveyed her work. The summer sun burned brightly overhead as the tiny sapling shivered in the wind, it's leaves and those of the others around it whispering in a sorrowful language that only she could understand. She shut her eyes tightly against their crooning, just as she had done yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that for so many dreary years prior.

"If only… if only…"

Fiercely, she dug the dirty metal spade into the moist earth and pulled out another seed from the rumpled paper package. She dropped it into the small pocket she'd made and covered it up again with moist soil, enriched with fertilizer. They were sturdy oaks, and some day they would tower over the shrine that she'd spent her entire life in. By then she would be long dead, but her work would remain, and flourish.

"If only… if only…"

That is, if someone didn't chop it down again. She sighed and pushed a strand of long black hair out of her face. The beads of the necklace that she always wore clacked at this motion, the blue-black orbs shining dully in the sun. The thoughts that occupied her mind nearly every day since That Day wearily swirled through her consciousness, like the bright green leaves around her as the wind blew.

What she really wanted to do was rebuild the entire forest. But with the land she had available… perhaps a grove? No, she wanted the forest, somewhere to hide in, to drown in her memories, and perhaps even fool herself into believing that she'd never truly left. She clutched at the beads almost desperately and wiped her eyes. Memories… they were as bright and vivid as if it had been just yesterday.

A small head of unruly black hair peeked out from the main building. Small shoes clacked and echoed through the silence against the remaining stone of the courtyard –Auntie had pulled up the rest when she was just four- as the six-year-old dashed across the open space and towards Grandma.

A year ago she wouldn't have asked. Some instinct kept her curiosity at bay, but now she was six and full to brimming with eagerness to explore and learn, as most small children were as some point. She'd asked about cats, dogs, airplanes, babies like her brother –Daddy had turned a curious bright red at that one - firemen and anything else she could possibly think of.

She tugged on Grandma's skirt demandingly. "Gran'ma!" she demanded, until the aging woman looked down from her book. "Gran'ma, why does Auntie always plant trees?" Her hands trembled at her own daring, brown eyes wide and eager.

"Etsuko, dear, shh." There was a smile on the woman's face, but a deep bottomless sadness in her eyes from a long-ago tragedy. "Some other time, okay dear?"

The six-year-old pouted, more curious than ever. "Why? That's what Daddy said about babies, and no one'll tell me anything!" Bright brown eyes suddenly widened. Etsuko lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper; "I bet demons bring them, and if you don't take care of the babies, they'll come back and eat you!" She looked up solemnly for confirmation.

"Grandma" only laughed softly. "Why don't you go tell your father that?" she suggested. Obediently, the small child nodded and scurried away, a triumphant expression on her face because of her discovery.

The laughter died slowly, the smile faded. The aging woman looked across the yard sadly and heaved a heavy sigh. It had been twenty years this day and she still didn't know what happened. She stared distantly at her daughter as she toiled, saplings of varying sizes and breeds surrounding her and hiding all but her black hair from view.

What had happened?

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(•. •)

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She frowned as the spade hit something hard. Cautiously, she dug her hand into the earth and winced as something bit into her fingers. Carefully, she dug the object up and pulled it out.

Dusting little clods of dirt from the shard of mirror she'd found, she turned it towards herself and gazed at the reflection. For a moment, she was surprised that the thing was still reflective. But naturally, as Kanna's mirror, it would stand up to the test of time. She should know that. But what else survived, buried beneath centuries of dirt and memory?

Her hands paused above the earth she'd toiled over for so many years, trembling. Images that she'd fought to bury for years rose to the surface of her mind as she fingered the shining, silvery splinter. Half of her wanted to dig deeper, unearth what laid beneath for centuries. Put it all to rest. But if she brought it up, she'd have to face it, accept it. Something that she'd been running from for over fifteen years. It would be buried deep, beneath the roots of the fledgling trees she'd dedicated her life to. But if she uncovered it, she'd have to give in, something she'd never be good at.

"Stubborn fool."

That's what he called her.

The little shard of mirror glinted in the sun, and she picked it up again. A fragment of the past.

Soulful brown eyes, bottomless with sorrow and glassy with tragedy stared back in a face that was pale despite all the sun. She almost looked like Kikyo… albeit an older one with curlier hair. She fingered her hair for a moment. In all this time, she'd never been able to bring herself to cut it any differently. Admittedly, it made her look ridiculous, as if she hadn't yet accepted that she was getting older, but somehow it seemed wrong to cut it.

She smiled bitterly and tossed the shard of mirror away before reached for her spade. She dug it into the moist earth, then paused. It would be buried deep. But here was a fragment of Kanna's mirror… what else was close to the surface? "Too late to stop now," she murmured. Twenty years too late, and in more than one way. The wheels were in motion, the dice were tossed, the cards set. The past was set in stone. Yet…

"If only… if only… if only…"

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(•. •)

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To Mrs. Higurashi, twenty years ago was a mystery. Kagome was suddenly in the kitchen, looking frightened and angry. She'd never seen an expression like that on her daughter's face, nor the one that followed it; total defeat and misery. She collapsed in a heap, crying. Sobbing, as if the world was coming to an end.

It was only later that Kagome's mother realized that, for her daughter, it had.

No one could get a word out of her for hours, and then all she'd said was, "Hello." But suddenly, in the middle of breakfast of the third day of her mysterious appearance, she announced that she was never going back to Sengoku Jidai. Before anyone could question her, she was gone, a false polite smile fixed in place as she stumbled out of the room.

To this day, Mrs. Higurashi was afraid of what was lurking behind that smile.

With a worried frown that she found herself wearing more and more often, the aging woman looked across the yard and down at her daughter. Mrs. Higurashi honestly could not understand what happened, though dark suspicions lurked in the back of her mind, a plethora of possibilities, each one as likely as the next.

Months passed, years passed, and Kagome was out of high school, top of her class with the false smile that they'd all grown eerily accustomed to on her face. On the walk home, she'd quietly announced that she didn't want a job or to go to college; she would spend her time planting a forest around the Go-Shinboku.

At first, Mr. Higurashi protested when she started to pull up the stonework in the courtyard.

"This is a historical landmark, Kagome!" the old man protested. "You can't just, just **pull it up** it like this…"

But when Kagome _looked_ at him, he'd hastily agreed and let her get on with it.

"I'm restoring what was here, far older than this shrine," she explained quietly. It was pure luck that Kagome's mother heard her murmur, "What was, what could've been…"

Mrs. Higurashi sighed heavily. What had happened to Kagome? It was the one thing in her life that she took a failure; nothing she could do or say would ever heal or mend whatever had happened. Or perhaps it had healed, and Kagome was simply doing what was important to her. If only she could've done something…

Leaves rustled and crooned in the miniature forest that her daughter had made the center of her life for the past sixteen years. If she listened carefully, it almost sounded like words.

"If only… if only… if only…"

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(0.0)

( )

The only thing that saddened Kagome now was that she'd never get to see this forest grow into its full majesty, the way it had been. She'd gotten over the tragedy, or so she tried to convince herself. It wasn't like her to dwell on something that she could never fix. She glanced up at the towering Go-Shinboku that stood like a giant above her, sheltering her tiny saplings from the worst of the sun. Wearily, she walked up to its vast trunk, making sure not to tread on any of the delicate plants. She gingerly placed her hand against the grooved and pitted trunk.

Five hundred years. Years ago, she'd taken that time for granted. She turned and tenderly patted her oldest sapling on its slender trunk. In five hundred years, her little patch of tiny trees would be tall and magnificent. And five hundred years ago, there was once a splendid forest covering nearly all the land that she knew so well. But she knew it just as well in that time, too.

She stared up at the creaking branches of the ancient goliath, it's myriad of leaves dancing in the wind, rustling quietly. It was an achingly familiar sound. Kagome wondered what it was like now, in the past. Twenty years since she'd last been there. What did it look like now? She traced the necklace with one hand, fingers running over the blunt fangs and smooth beads.

A cool breeze lifted her hair from the back of her neck and swung in over her shoulder and the beads around her neck clacked. The leaves murmured quietly among themselves, filling the silence with the clean dry sound of shifting foliage.

"If only… if only…"

Her gaze swept across the tiny trees. Desperately, she wished that she could see these trees when they were fully grown. She smiled wistfully and patted the Go-Shinboku's trunk again. When she was done, the last thing she'd do was put up a sign. Nothing big or fancy, after all, Inuyasha was never one for anything like that. A simple wooden sign that wood last decades, perhaps even centuries.

"If only…"

Perhaps she could find someone to complete her work. Probably not little Etsuko. She was almost positive that her niece was frightened of her. But she couldn't blame her for that. Her entire family was distant, and she knew that her silence was what kept them apart. Souta didn't understand. His wife, Tadako, didn't approve of her. Frankly, Kagome could care less, nor about the friends she'd distanced and the boys she'd turned down.

A weary, wistful sadness rose up in her. And besides that… there was no one. Wryly, Kagome wondered if it had been a bad idea to completely set herself apart from the human race. "Probably…" She sighed and looked at her accomplishment. She had quite a lot of work to do…

"If only… if only…"

At the sound of footsteps in the soft soil, Kagome flinched and turned in surprise. It had been ages since someone had come into her fledgling forest; no one understood it and it made them uncomfortable. "Hello?" Kagome called, confused. Her voice was rusty; it was the first time she'd said anything for a couple of days.

"Auntie?" A small voice directed her attention lower towards the ground. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. There stood Etsuko, carefully making sure that she didn't step on any trees. Earnest brown eyes stared into sorrowful ones of the same color.

"Can I help you grow your little forest?" The six-year-old held a spade far too large for her and was wearing a straw hat of the same ridiculous size. The trees trembled with soft laughter and a true smile lit up Kagome's face.

"Inuyasha's Forest, Etsuko. It was called Inuyasha's forest. And someday, it will be again."

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(•. •)

( )

AN: The thing about thoughtful writing is that you can't be impatient. And I was certainly impatient when I wrote this. Thus, I.M.H.O, I failed miserably.

On another note, I don't have a real scenario for what happened in the past. What's written here is what I know, nothing more.

(Edited on: Wednesday, July 13, 2005)


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